


Our Flaws dissolve in love so Easily.

by pseudofoucault333



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Belgrave Street, Blow Jobs, Cocaine, Dimmock is a bit of a hopeless romantic, Drug Addiction, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fame, Irene is a very kinky pretty face, Jim is an enabler, Jim likes to use that as much as he can, John is a sweetheart with a big big crush, M/M, Masturbation, Modeling, Molly is a bad ass, Mycroft is a Prude of the hilarious kind, Mycroft is still an interfering so-and-so, Photography, Sebastian W is a fiendish bastard, Sebastian does as he's told and his relationship suffers for it, Sherlock doesn't know how to say no, Sherlock is a diva, attitude issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudofoucault333/pseuds/pseudofoucault333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is an out of work Photographer after returning from working for a newspaper, living with his alcoholic sister, who is soon taken on by Scotty Ard Fashion label, Sherlock is one of the best known models in the industry, managed by his elder brother, who possesses a bad drug addiction and an unhealthy relationship with his dealer, also employed by Scotty Ard for their Paris Fashion Week show. Yet when the two meet, sparks fly and things become a whole lot more complicated than either could possibly imagine. But when it comes right down to it what matters more to Sherlock....his Cocaine or possibly the best relationship he's ever had?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I don't put much faith in anything at all

**Title:** Our Flaws dissolve in love so easily  
 **Author:** **lovin_torture**  
 **Rating:** R -NC17  
 **Pairing:** Sherlock/John, Sherlock/Moriarty, Molly/Sebastian, Mycroft/Lestrade,  
 **POV:** Alternated.  
 **Summary:** John is an out of work Photographer after returning from working for a newspaper, living with his alcoholic sister, who is soon taken on by Scotty Ard Fashion label, Sherlock is one of the best known models in the industry, managed by his elder brother, who possesses a bad drug addiction and an unhealthy relationship with his dealer, also employed by Scotty Ard for their Paris Fashion Week show. Yet when the two meet, sparks fly and things become a whole lot more complicated than either could possibly imagine. But when it comes right down to it what matters more to Sherlock....his Cocaine or possibly the best relationship he's ever had?  
 **Disclaimer:** Sherlock is © to Sir Arthur Connan Doyle and the brilliance of Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffatt who brought it to my TV Screen, don’t sue because the contents of my bank account is practically empty at the moment. Plot mostly based on fiction…i.e not real. Title  & cuts © The Spill Canvas.  
 **Author Notes:** Unbeta'd This is a story I started randomly when I should have been writing my big bangs and the prompts for Round of Kink which came out of nowhere really...other than my personal opinion that Benedict Cumberbatch would make a breathtaking model. I've written quite a few chapters, though some have gaps I need to fill, but have been anxious at the thought of posting it due to my uncertainty about my characterization of Sherlock. But given that the one Sherlock fic that I wrote for Rounds of kink was received so well....I thought I might give it a try. The other chapters after the ones I've written may take a while to appear...just a warning in advance due to life at the moment [Excluding NaNo] but still I'll try and be more regular with posting. I hope you like :) xo

 

Being called in with one minute’s notice to the point where I was practically running across London so was not to lose the opportunity I desperately needed wasn't exactly the start I’d wanted to my day. The tube had been full to bursting, my cab only got me as far as a street away leaving me to find myself jogging frantically down Belgrave street, gaze mostly on my phone’s screen staring at the address Mike had text me to make sure I didn't miss the right number. 

As much as I appreciated Mike’s heads up about the job I just wished he’d been more organised about contacting me. Finally I reached the right building, a smallish looking two story townhouse which contained my next job. It seemed a sight that was all the rage with designer fashion houses. The bottom floor reserved for the office front for promotional advertisers in their employment and the indirect administration team who took calls and did inventory for materials. The second floor reserved for the designer’s office, work space and living space combined mostly in a studio layout including minute space for their direct admin staff in the form of a PA. They didn't leave much space for photographer’s needs in general but I often made it work, it was what I was paid for.

I ran up the front steps and walked to the small desk where a young guy sat frantically typing away, a faraway look in his eyes that told me he was imaging himself on holiday on a beach somewhere.

“Erm excuse me, I’m here for an appointment with Ms. Donovan.” I said, putting my phone away in my pocket and giving him time to come back to reality at the same time. It seemed to work as he finally looked up though his fingers kept moving on autopilot like they weren't even really connected to his body as he looked me over.

“Name?”

“John Watson.”

His gaze moved to look back at the monitor, leaving me standing there awkwardly, waiting to be told where to go or if I should even bother sitting down on the couch in the corner. I was just contemplating moving when he spoke again.

“Mr. Anderson says you should go up. Prepare yourself.” The anonymous receptionist said, jerking his head in the direction of the staircase to his left while his fingers never stopped flying over the keyboard.

I didn't dare ask him to elaborate, just moved towards the staircase and started the journey up knowing my leg was going to be killing me by the time the day was over. The upstairs was as large as I had expected as though a conservatory had been added to ensure it was big enough, either that or some walls had been knocked down. The room was filled with a large collection of dressmaker’s dummies with intricate outfits on them in various states of progress; meters of fabric were either stretched out on trestle tables or wound up and shoved into the corner of the room. It wasn't until I moved away from the top step that I spotted the only two occupants of the room. 

A fairly young pair stood in the corner nearest the largest window, the male of whom had a phone pressed to one ear with his shoulder and an iPad in his free hands checking something on the tablet. The female of the two looked like the slightly more stressed of the two though there wasn't a trace of it on her face as she continued to hem a rather bizarre looking dress on a dummy in front of her, a couple of pins hanging from the corner of her lips.

“Erm, excuse me....Ms. Donovan?” I said hesitantly edging towards the pair while making sure not to touch or knock anything over. 

“Anderson.” She murmured, gaze still on the hemming as she took one pin from her mouth to use on holding the hemline in place. The male, Anderson, soon finished his call and turned his attention to me as he checked something on the iPad.

“Ah John Watson. So glad you could make it on such short notice.” He said, setting the phone on the trestle table that was closest to his female partner.

“It’s no problem. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” I said edgily, my gaze half watching him and half her as though not sure which of the two I should really focus on speaking to.

“Of course not. Sally will join us in a moment when she’s finished preparing that garment. Please come with me and I’ll discuss your position further.” Anderson said gesturing for me to follow him towards the part of the layout that looked like it was supposed to be their shared office.

I soon sat in a worn out desk chair watching Anderson gather some paperwork from the printer in the corner, his gaze occasionally straying to the iPad like some emails from important people had arrived but he wasn't sure whether or not to ignore me for the time being. Finally he set his mind against it and sat opposite me, offering me the papers in his hand.

“Ok so here’s the deal. Sally is going to be hiring some models for her stint in the Paris fashion week and she’s going to need a photographer to do the test shots of the models and even possibly some shots while in Paris to further her business and clientele. Is that something you would be interested in?”

I was more used to doing photo shoots for magazines and advertising campaigns than test shots and live shots on a catwalk but I didn't want to seem ungrateful for the opportunity but something in my face may have shows him my doubts by the way he reacted to my silence.

“I understand that this isn't your usual repertoire John but trust me it won’t be that and that alone. You will be the photographer of choice for advertising campaigns and in relation editorials for Vogue and Vanity fair for shoots. This could be beneficial for your career just as much as Sally’s. Do we have a deal?”

Shooting shots for Vogue and Vanity Fair hadn't exactly been my dream either but it couldn't hurt to keep me out the unemployment line constantly instead of having to move from one to another with the broke gaps in between which had stressed me out beyond belief.

“Sounds like an opportunity I would be stupid to turn down.” I said, pushing a believable smile on my face as I watched him slide another piece of paper on top of the pile already in my possession.

“Then sign on the dotted line and we can speak to Sally about your pay.” Anderson said offering me the pen.

When I walked out of 8 Belgrave Street what felt like half an hour later, the home of Scotty Ard, with an upfront cheque of £1,500 amongst a wad of paperwork, relief seemed to descend upon me. I could finally move out of Harry’s spare room to my own flat, god knows it’s about time. 

I’d had a permanent position as a photo journalist in war zones like Syria, Egypt and Israel for a number of years before the word ‘restructuring’ ensured my job disappeared and I was cut loose, leaving me unemployed and homeless. I’d had just enough money in my savings to fly back to London and not much else. While I’d had the odd six months contract in magazines and one lone exhibit which earned me Jack shit I’d stayed with Harry out of concern as well as the need for the roof over my head.

Since she and Clara had divorced, while I was in Sierra Leone, I’d wanted to come back and check she was OK but work kept putting it further and further out of my reach with more images needed. When I arrived on her doorstep all those months later she was a wreck in the way she’d been after every other break up and failed event in her life with a Gin bottle in her hand. I’d tried many times with no success to get her to quit, to go to Alcoholics anonymous for crying out loud but each time she’d say it wouldn't make Clara come back so there wasn't much point. She soon got stood down from work with pay and had steadily got worse since.

Now I managed to hail a cab from Eccleston Square to Sheldon Square with the twenty quid I found in my wallet and sat in the back hoping this would help snap her out of it. I didn't enjoy being her crutch or warden let alone lying to our parents about her situation as well as my own but at least now I’d have something to distract me from worrying about her twenty four seven. Still.....I should check in with her before I go out for a Celebratory drink with Greg and Mike.

I’d arrived to Harry’s to find no sign of her drunk on the couch, but a rather loud chorus of moans from her room. Great...I think staying at Greg’s might be a good idea tonight. I sighed as I set my paperwork down in my room, putting the cheque in my jeans pocket so she wouldn't find it before leaving, texting Mike and Greg on the way to the pub we usually frequented. 

When I arrived they were already there, with a pint set aside for me, thank god.

“Hey, how’d the interview go?” Mike asked, watching me sit across from him over his beer.

“Pretty well despite the fact I was informed at the last minute,” I said, downing a good mouthful of my pint. “You’re now looking at an employed man.”

“That’s good, is it a permanent position or just another temporary one?” Greg asked, raising an eyebrow. He knew as well as I did how much I hated being uncertain about what I’d be doing in six months.

“It’s pretty permanent for once; it’s different to what I was expecting but still work so I can’t complain.”

“Besides who knows you might end up finding someone.” Mike grinned, none too discreetly.

“Don’t start Mike.” I said, warningly, my gaze moving to my pint as I tried to avoid the subject, not that it ever works.

“Oh come on John, don’t tell me you’re happy being your sister’s keeper and a complete workaholic with no-one to fuck your frustration out on.” Mike sighed, ignoring the look Greg was giving him at pushing.

“Having someone isn't everything Mike...it complicates things and the last thing I need is anymore drama in my life.” I said, staring into the remainder of my pint. 

“Trust me; it could be just what you need.” Mike said with a sense of finality in his tone before changing the subject on to something that he knew wouldn't rile me up but the thought remained in the back of my mind, despite how I tried to deny it.


	2. I'll be your whipping boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's little 'arrangement', Molly being awesome, history in a nutshell and meeting the mysterious Photographer.
> 
> Warning: Drug use and dubious sexual content is in this chapter, the latter depending on how you look at it really :/  
> And before I get any comments about Sherlock's taking Cocaine not seeming realistic...I don't and have never taken it so I honestly can't make it any more realistic than my imagination lets me guys.

It had been a big night out on the town in London celebrating merely being alive and having the freedom from having to stand still or have clothes practically shoved in my face to wear for the publicity or a certain brand. I distinctly remember Molly telling me something before she left me to change for my night on the town as Jim always called it but it must not have been that important. Hours later and I found myself back from a nameless bar that I’d let Jim and Sebastian dragged me to, slumped against the door to my hotel room as Jim kissed my neck and whispered indistinguishable yet undoubtedly dirty things just from the tone in his voice.

Sebastian opened the door for us, whispered something to Jim whose arm slid down the small of my back and passed something between them. Sebastian then left us to it, Jim leading me inside. He pushed me up against closed door and attacked my lips deeply as though he had been aching to do just that ever since we met up.

“Jim have you got it?” I breathed against his lips as his hands slid down my side as though reaching for my zip before detouring to undo the buttons of my collar enough so he could bite and suck the skin undisturbed.

“What did you think this was?” Jim asked, pulling a small bag of white powder out his trouser pocket and resting it between his teeth with a mischievous grin on his lips.

“Then let’s get to it.” I smiled, kissing his lips and leading the way through the suite to the bedroom. It had been cleaned up by the housekeeping since I’d gone out but all that mattered was that I had some cocaine to ease reality just the way it always did between jobs.

I pulled out a small bag from the inside pocket of my suitcase after turning the lights on, I turned to see Jim had already started to strip off the designer suit that covered his skin as naturally as my own. Of course the coke was never something that came for free where he’s concerned especially it’s when me who wanted it. I wasn't stupid enough to ignore Jim’s attraction to me, I’d used it against him a fair few times to get more coke for my stash on those occasions was about to leave the country for a few months but I found myself more than agreeable to his advances when there was the chemical high flowing through my nervous system....probably something he was anticipating at that moment.

I set the bag down on the bed as he threw his shirt on top of his trousers before laying on the bed seductively watching me with the bag of cocaine he’d been taunting me with as he watched me undress to my underwear and sit beside him on the bed. He removed the small bag from his lip and ran his fingers through my hair as he pulled my lips to his, teasing them apart with his tongue, my hands rested either side of his hips and slowly began to ease his body so he was on his back. I straddled his hips as we continued to kiss deeply, the technique getting filthier and filthier the more enthusiastic he became, my left hand brushing against his chest while my right tugged the bag closed within grabbing distance for when I needed it.

He set the bag on his chest, in the juncture between his pectorals and smiled at me invitingly as I sorted through my luggage for my kit I hid from Molly and the security at airports. I slid out the expired credit card I always used to cut it and an old wrinkled ten pound note I used to snort it up. I’d only ever injected it once and had learned my lesson from the near overdose not to mention the track marks were too obvious to Molly...but I’d had to compromise since I still needed it in my system somehow. Besides I got more than my fair share of a buzz by snorting it.

I set the note and credit card on Jim’s stomach before taking the bag and tipping a bit out on to his abs. his back arched back a little against the bed so it cascaded down his ribs and tilted his head so he could watch me gather the credit card and use it to cut the cocaine evenly into three lines, his body jerking a little with the feel of the plastic edge grazing his skin. I let my lips graze against his navel setting the credit card down, licking a trail around his belly button and watch him try to keep still so the cocaine strips didn’t move. My lips kept moving until I reached the bottom of his ribs, my teeth nipping against his skin as I curled the ten pound note up between my thumb and index finger. Finally I put the end of the note to the end of the first strip and the other to the opening of my nostril. In a swift yet fluid movement I moved the note as I took a breath in so the cocaine entered my nose. Immediately the buzz flowed into my body and nervous system as though I was on a higher plain where that and that alone was all that mattered to my very existence.

I took a breath in through my nose once I pulled away to ensure the three lines were gone before rubbing my nose to ensure there was none of the precious powder lingering around my nostrils. Immediately the need for more skin against skin contact began to spread through my body, causing me to lean over to kiss Jim, his hands brushing against my back, his fingers grazing the knots of my spine. My fingers grazed his waist and sides, indulging in the feeling of controlling the person beneath me though Jim would never acknowledge that if I voiced it aloud. 

But the more my mind seemed to submerge into that buzzed state it made it easier for Jim to distract me enough so that his body could take advantage of my own. I felt his fingers tracing patterns over my skin, how he managed to manoeuvre us so that I was beneath him, completely under his duress. The feeling of his kisses brushing against my neck and the way his teeth would sometimes take over for his lips like an animal wanting to leave his mark to scare away anyone else that would even dare to try and make their move. All I was capable of doing as I often was when under the influence of certain white powder was to rest hands on to his back and groan as though every touch, every kiss and every move he made caused me to turn into a willing partner when half the time what he did to me was questionable and if in my right mind I’d be telling me the best way to do everything. It was probably one of the reasons why he seemed to like me at my best when a buzz was flowing through my nerves.

His well manicured nails dug into whatever part of my skin he could reach and his fingers undoing and brushing my items of clothing from my body like he possessed a magic I never was capable of. Soon I was laid nude beneath him gasping as he taunted and teased my arousal by grinding his own against it setting sparks off that had me groaning his name and begging him to do it again. It was then that he offered me some more coke in the palm of his hand, cut into three perfect lines with the credit card just the way he knows I like. 

“Come on Sherlock...don’t tell me you don’t want some more.” He breathed against my neck causing me to meet his gaze out the corner of my eye and pant desperately as I leaned towards his hand, not needing the pound note this time because the more that was ingested into my system the easier it became for me to get the next line up my nose.

I snorted the first two lines up in one, collapsing my head back on to the pillow as the high multiplied through my system so that when Jim ground against my cock again all I wanted was him inside me, using me like the whore he knew I was. But as I was about to beg him for it the way he likes I saw him tapping a perfect line of cocaine on the curve of his bare shoulder.

“Another line won’t hurt you Sherlock....come on do it for me....you know how I love the feel of your breath over my skin when you inhale it.” he taunted with that manipulative yet devilishly attractive smile on his face.

“I’ll need a bit of help....” I groaned, attempting to push myself up with the help of the headboard uselessly which only made Jim’s laughter sing from his throat as he leaned back on to his knees and rested his hand on my hips before bringing me upright so my chin was cradled on his shoulder not far from the cocaine trail.

I didn't need much encouragement to breathe in the trail as my nose followed the curve of his shoulder, my head tilting backwards in complete ecstasy as the high reached the more euphoric lengths I was able of experiencing in one session. I felt Jim’s nose nuzzling the length of my neck as he guided me back on to the mattress, his teeth piercing at my Adam’s apple feeling just like a faraway pinch. I was so far away in my own mind and body that all I felt as he manipulated my body so I was on my knees before him, my hands clinging tightly to the headboard and his cock thrusting deep inside me for the first time that night was the numbing hum of the cocaine flowing through me. It was that hum that kept me sated the whole time and helped me black out....just like always....after he came inside me....leaving me full and dirty like the best whore in the world should be, not to wake until the next morning, when he was gone and my PA was knocking on my door like a woman possessed. 

* * *

“Please tell me that I have the day off.” I groaned from inside the bed that felt like it should be my sanctuary for the rest of my existence which was helped by the fact my head hidden under a pillow.

I heard the sigh before the pillow was yanked from my grasp and my eyes were burning from the invasion of bright light which was streaming into the room despite my lack of knowledge as to how that had happened. 

“Oh Sherlock what did you take this time?” a female voice asked, though her voice was filled with frustration and annoyance instead of the disappointment I usually heard behind those words.

“I don’t need to dignify that with a response.” I huffed, rolling on to my side in an attempt to limit the intrusion of the light before grabbing the pillow beside me and using it to cover my sorely abused eyes before continuing. “Now if I have the day off then why are you here Molly?”

“You don’t have the day off Sherlock. If you’d actually listened to me yesterday before you went to drink yourself into a stupor you’d remember me telling you that you have an interview with Sally Donovan for Scotty Ard today.” She said calmly though I heard the sound of the wardrobe being opened and hangers scrapping against the bar as she picked out which of my suits I should wear

“Can’t you postpone it?” I muffled from beneath the pillow, adamant that leaving the bed was not an option if I could get away with it. But I knew Molly wasn't going to give up without a fight. One of the reasons Mycroft had hired her in the first place.

“I've already postponed it twice and I refuse to start referring to the list you gave me of believable illnesses I could use. Now do you want this job or not?” she asked something being thrown on top of me which I assumed was my suit for the day.

I groaned as I stared into the depths of the pillow over my face before reluctantly throwing it to join its partner on the floor and rubbing my bloodshot eyes with the heels of my hands as I pushed myself to sit upright. This she seemed to take as the go-ahead she obviously knew it was because she sounded way too chipper when she spoke to me again. Has she already had some coffee or something sugary?

“Good, we leave in half an hour. I’ll be waiting in the car with a double shot coffee for you.” She quipped, her footsteps retreating towards the door telling me she was leaving me to actually get ready or she would be back with a vengeance. I removed my hands and blinked a few times to clear my vision and get used to the onslaught of light before sliding off the bed, and grabbing the clothes she’d got out for me, to shower. I just prayed I remembered to pack my sunglasses, I’d heard about Donovan's hatred of models on her payroll hung over in any respect and I could really do with the job to stop Mycroft bothering me in his discreetly stalker way about my behavior.....oh and the drug use.

Fifteen minutes later I was dressed and made sure to check I looked as respectable as it was going to get before hiding my sensitive eyes behind the large blacked out Prada glasses as I sat beside Molly in a cab with the coffee in my hands on the way to Donovan’s office. I ignored the looks Molly was flashing at me out the corner of her eye, I’d had the same lecture numerous times about how it wasn't professional or healthy for me to lead such a reckless life style where drugs, alcohol and one night stands were the norm. Each time she’d try to make me promise that I wouldn't do it again....that this time I would actually try to live on the straight and narrow even if it was blatant lie just to shut her up. She’d use the same threat about rehab, severing all of my professional, and in the odd case personal, ties until I was clean. But she hadn't gone so far as to tell Mycroft though I had a feeling it was mostly because of how it would impact her reputation of professionalism. But this time I knew it was the last chance before she did just that....but no amount of lying or vows of change would make it any truer as far as I was concerned. 

I took a sip of my coffee, restraining the urge to react to her prompting in the form of silence surrounding us like a bubble or how she wouldn't stop her agitating habit of looking at me until it got too much for me.

We finally arrived at the address and Molly paid the driver while I slid out to hover on the pavement continuing to down the caffeine since it was to be considered my liquid breakfast. Every inch of my body seemed to ache from the night before let alone having to be in an upright position for such a long period of time, not that I voiced my annoyance because I knew Molly would jump on it as an opportunity to start the same routine. Instead I followed her into the house, hovering behind her as she spoke to the receptionist at the front whose gaze seemed to over look her and light up at the sight of me. I sighed and quickly averted my gaze as I followed her up the stairs towards the office where I had the feeling I wasn't going to be the only one there. Sure enough as Molly went to speak to the PA I spotted a few familiar faces having being in the same circles for god knew how long.

There was the dear Irene Adler....the one female I’d allowed myself to sleep with on a night when I wasn't buzzed or inebriated. That was when I was younger and she was an up and coming new face. We’d been at a London fashion week together and she’d been the one girl in the whole crowd of bimbos and anorexic tarts that hadn't thrown herself at me. Immediately she’d been irresistible in a way I couldn't explain....I can’t even explain it now thinking back on it. All I know was we slept together through out that entire week.....and then she was moving on to the New York fashion week while I went to Sydney for a few Vanity Fair shoots. I hadn't seen her much since but we’d stayed in touch every so often, but seeing her now was a definite surprise.

Also hovering beside Irene as though trying to prompt some conversation with her or the two rather attractive men either side of her was Marielle Wade who was known for being the Москва велосипед or ‘Moscow Bike’ in modelling circles. She denied it every time but the amount of times I had seen her flirting with guys in higher fashion positions pretty much screamed there was more truth to it than she would like to let believe. The first time I met her she tried to work her way into my pants with a quip about being my biggest fan and how a shoot with the two of us would be worth more pounds than either of us could ask for. For me it pretty much told me what kind of person she was, an overly ambitious, as most blonde females are, bimbo best to be avoided. I hadn't seen her since the introduction and had no intention of seeing her around, I prayed she didn't get this gig. 

Off to one side, with her gaze on her cell phone and biting her lip to probably make them redder than they naturally were stood Odessa Gallagher, a beautiful redhead who defined the terms Bulimia and Anorexic from standing fully clothed let alone with barely anything. I had seen more than my fair share of the dark underbelly of the fashion industry and while I suppose it was their own choice, their own self esteem issues that came to play a bit too obviously she looked like she had been starving herself since her PA told her about the job just to make sure she would get the gig. It was sickening honestly, but it didn't exactly help that I had heard through the grape vein of how her taste in men was awful, her current boyfriend Rob Cole, while a photographer was known for being a brutal bastard both in the sack and out. And as if it wasn't any more obvious how brutal the outfit she came in was long sleeved and had a long skirt screamed there were things she wanted to keep hidden. 

On the other side of the room, near where the PAs who weren't babysitting their charges like Molly was me, stood a group of the other male models. Some were veterans I knew personally and had been to at least one fashion show or another with, like Dimmock who was being pretty silent as the rest of those around him murmured no doubt about wanting to get Marielle or Odessa in the sack, or better yet get their numbers before they left. Dimmock’s gaze was on Irene who seemed oblivious; their history was made up of pain and a half. They had been fine in the beginning but when Irene found her calling in alternative magazines and avenues Dimmock tried to get her to reconsider. The Irene I knew wasn't one to be swayed by pressure and I wasn't surprised when I heard she’d called it quits between them. But from Dimmock it was obvious there were still unresolved feelings he was harboring for her, but honestly it probably wasn't worth him even trying. 

In the center of the male crowd stood Avery Yates, a blowhard whose mind seemed to be in his pants. He was very self assured about everything and I didn't doubt that if he swung the other way I would consider getting a piece of action with him to just to say that I had which wouldn't be too hard considering his best friend of the moment was my old friend Sebastian Wilkes who had been my mentor a little in the fashion industry in the beginning. The one who got me hooked on cocaine due to the benefits of keeping off weight and all that jazz. And sure enough there was Sebastian a poncy suit whispering in Avery’s ear as someone else took over about which of the female crowd they wanted. I’ll maybe consider keeping an eye on Avery and see if I can get his head out his ass and show him how a real man gets fucked. 

Among the people with all the stories that reminded me of better times I spotted Jim and Sebastian who were hovering, waiting for their turn to be called in to see Sally. Jim gave me a knowing wink when our gazes met like he knew why I was looking so pale and crappy causing me to turn my gaze quickly to Molly who was gesturing for me to follow her into the office space. I set my empty coffee cup on the nearest table, making sure my gaze continued to avoid Jim’s on the way and followed her towards the pair sitting behind a desk whispering between themselves about the person before me.

“Ms. Donovan, so nice to see you.” I made myself say causing the female of the two to look up and none too discreetly look me over as though maybe sizing me up and trying to imagine me in any of her pieces.

“Sherlock Holmes, take a seat.” The male said, seemingly ignoring Molly’s presence, as Sally began to scribble notes on a pad in front of her. 

I sat down opposite the two of them and barely paid any attention to a word they were saying. I’d been through the process hundreds of times but only kept my mind open just enough to pick up on key words to assure me on the key aspects behind the job. ‘ head shots’, common practice since they’d see multiple models before they made a decision....as well as the fact they wanted shots that they knew for a fact weren't photo shopped, ‘Paris fashion week’ definite reason to put on my good side since London was getting so dull, maybe this time I could do the international circuit though instead of just the one. ‘Pay plus expenses’ um...definite plus and hopefully I could get it in cash. Nothing worse than going through all the trouble of banks to get the money for a fix. ‘under good behavior’ oh spare me the childishness, like I’m really going to behave any other way when around a client and representing their label. 

“Any questions?”

“When can I expect to be contacted?” I asked, glad the usual spiel was over before my brain cells began to commit suicide of their own freewill.

“We’ll have made our decision on the final ten by tomorrow.”

“OK. It definitely sounds like something I would really like to be considered towards.” I said, putting on my sincerest smile instead of the usual snarky one that used up less facial muscles and came more naturally.

“Brilliant, we’ll keep that in consideration. Your PA will take you upstairs for your head shots with our photographer and we’ll hopefully see and hear from you soon.”

I flashed another smile as I got up, glad they didn't ask for me to remove my sunglasses though I knew it would be inevitable for the head shot but at least Molly had her usual tricks up her sleeve. I let Molly lead the way and soon found myself in on moderately sized attic which had spare fabrics piled in a corner. A white backdrop covered the highest wall at the west side and a slightly shorter man was setting up his camera.

I’d seen many photographers over the years and on each occasion I’d found something about them to despise. Their fashion sense, their hair color, their camera model or set up in general, hell even their attitude had me curling away from a few like a shriveled prune. But as I looked at him, there was nothing to detest or criticize, nothing that I would bitch about to molly on the way back to the hotel or to Jim that night when he wormed his way back into my bed with another desperately wanted bag of coke. That in itself was odd, I always found SOMETHING! He was focusing on taking shots of the overly blonde and overly ambitious, Marielle Wade. She was flirting with him like she thought it would earn her a compliment on her appearance or something similar but he seemed to be oblivious which could mean any number of things.....hmmmm.

“Sherlock, let’s clean you up while he’s busy so you at least have a chance in hell to get this job.” Molly hissed, pulling me to the side by the arm.

She slid my glasses off and pushed them into her handbag, pulling out concealer and a pair of contacts to cover the bloodshot look in my eyes. I let her work with no snippy remarks; I didn't dare even breathe after the last time where she nearly blinded me with the tip of an eyeliner pencil. I kept my gaze on the photographer as she smudged the concealer into the skin around my eyes to get rid of the bags before effortlessly putting in the contacts causing me to blink a few times to get used to them.

“There, now that’s better. You look as normal as possible.” She said, shoving the concealer and contacts case back in her bag.

“Next.” Came a strong voice as Marielle sauntered off, probably accustomed to some sort of special treatment or flattery that she hadn't managed to get from him.

“Off you go.” Molly hissed, practically pushing me towards the photographer. I approached him and saw him do a double take when he saw me, like he recognized me. I was used to that reaction with some people but I hadn't exactly met the guy before so wasn't sure if it was admiration or something else. 

I was used to the routine of head shots, left profile, frontal and right profile, doing it wordlessly even as I felt him look me over as though not sure of what else he needed to do.

“Can I go now?” I finally made myself ask, breaking a moment that seemed to have been building between us. It seemed to pull him out of his stump enough to regain his professionalism.

“I just need your CV and measurement details to put together with the shots.” He managed to say, though his gaze never strayed from my face regardless.

“Sure. Molly....” I said, looking over his shoulder to see she had already pulled the information out her bag and was approaching him. 

I lowered my gaze as she put the folder in his hand and whispered something under her breath to him before turning her attention back to me. 

“Another coffee Sherlock?” she asked, handing me my sunglasses as we started to walk towards the top step of the staircase. 

“Sounds good....I could use another double shot.”


	3. The photographer is spellbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The obvious chemistry with Anderson and Donovan, John's POV of the first meeting, his family drama and John's overwhelming physical urge for someone he thinks he can't have.

The next day after waking when Greg was leaving for work I made myself go back to Harry’s to change and grab my equipment. I managed to stop for a coffee at a cafe a little down the road before getting a cab to Belgrave street. I arrived earlier than before to the house to see Sally was already dealing with a few last minute touches to her centre piece though Anderson appeared behind me with two takeaway cups for them.

“Ah John, you’re here.” Anderson said politely though something in his tone screamed he’d wanted time alone with Sally who seemed oblivious or not in the mood to talk about anything but business at that moment in time.

“Er yeah....I can always come back later though....” I said, though Sally glared at Anderson who put their cups down on the desk and turned his attention to me.

“Not at all, please follow me and I’ll show you the space we've set aside for you.” He said, but his posture screamed he wasn't happy about it.

I followed him up the stairs to the attic but it wasn’t a dingy space like I was expecting. The spare fabric which wasn't on the second floor was piled in the corner. A desk with laptop and chair sat in another corner but the rest of the space was more than enough for photo shoots let alone head shots. 

“I hope this is adequate space, the only other option is the basement but there isn't much space or light compared to up here.”

“It’s perfect. I do have a question about the background for the head shots though.” I said, setting my camera and bag down on the desk chair.

“A plain background would be preferable, maybe something like that.” He said, gesturing listlessly in the direction of the unused fabric like he didn’t care what it was as long as it was done.

“OK, I can do that.” I nodded, my gaze immediately moving to the pile of fabric in the corner and trying to pick out the most plain of the lot that would be the best to use.

“Excellent, well I’ll leave you to it. Your first individual will be up in about an hour.” Anderson said, his gaze shifting to his phone which had appeared from his pocket as he approached the staircase leaving me alone to decide my plan of action before the models started to arrive. 

I managed to put up a screen of white cotton as a backdrop, held up with thumb tacks, leaving me time to assure myself I could deal with all the attractive people I was about to meet. The hour seemed to pass fairly quickly and soon an attractive man stood at the top of the stairs with a mousy woman beside him who I assumed to be his PA.  
He definitely looked like he was a model but he would never have been my idea of Mr. Perfect if I bumped into him at a pub. I never liked to date someone who made me feel inferior in my own skin and that was the vibe I got off him. I made myself keep calm and professional and continued to act as such with the others that followed but it was when I saw him that I realized that wasn't possible. 

He was unlike the others I’d seen, his stature looked like it was built for modelling, tall and slender but it wasn't just that which stuck out. While the expression on his face conveyed boredom, his looks, while classic, were so beautiful. Black curly hair at odd angles like he hadn't brushed it after his shower, he had prominent cheekbones but it wasn't until he approached the backdrop that I caught his eye, his beautiful uniquely colored eyes which locked with mine. It was only then that I realized who he was and his mere presence in front of me nearly made my jaw drop like a pathetic fan in the presence of their idol. It wasn't that I was so pathetically awestruck by who he was but a case of I didn't really follow modelling circles. He was the only exception to that.....Sherlock Holmes. The only model I’d really ever wanted to work with and there he was.

I could barely stop myself from staring at him all the while I was taking his head shots. Finally I was still watching him as he hovered like he didn't understand why I wasn't just telling him to move, before he finally voiced himself, his words flowing through me to my very core despite the fact my lack of professionalism probably wasn't appreciated.

“I just need your CV and measurement details to put together with the shots.” I said with as much forced confidence as I could manage when in the presence of a Deity.

He murmured to someone over my shoulder causing a young brunette woman that I hadn't taken much notice of before, which I assumed to be his PA, to approach me with a clear file containing what I had asked for.

“I’m sure you’ll be seeing him around....again.....” She murmured knowingly before turning her attention to the god still stood in my eye line.

I watched Sherlock cover those entranced eyes with his designer sunglasses as the two started down the stairs leaving me to focus on the next person I was to photograph as I set Sherlock’s paperwork down on the increasing pile on my desk. I just hoped Sherlock didn't think I was some kind of obsessive fan boy.

“Next!” I managed to squeak, hoping that the effect his presence had had on me would fade before I found myself in the presence of an utterly pretentious arsehole.

~XO~

After the head shots and organizing them with their paperwork to put on Sally’s desk I packed up my equipment including the work laptop and began to make my way back to Harry’s, intent on spending the rest of the night attempting to look for apartments to rent. But once I got there Harry seemed to be having a rather bad day and had already reached for her poison of choice. She was slumped on the sofa with the bottle in her hand merely inches from her lips. I sighed as I set my things on my temporary bed beside the paperwork from the day before that I still needed to look through. 

“Harry, what’s wrong?” I asked as I made myself walk back into the lounge. She only looked at me, making no move to get up or even down another mouthful of alcohol.

“Do you know what day it is John?” she asked, the slur in her voice telling me she’d been drinking for longer than I’d originally thought. Oh god, where’s she hiding her stash this time? I’d much rather not have to search the flat from top to bottom for knucks and crannies again.

“Should I?” I asked, perching on the chair arm above her head.

“It’s three years to the day Clara walked out that door.” She murmured, her free hand pointing in the general direction of the door.

“Oh Harry.” I said softly, lacing my fingers with hers and giving her hand a soft squeeze.

“Three years since she called it quits and left me a blubbering mess on the floor.” Harry said, looking at me pleadingly for some reassurance that it had been nothing but a bad dream instead of a living nightmare.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry but drinking yourself into a stupor isn’t going to change that. Come on let’s get you to bed.” I said, taking the bottle out her hand and setting it on the coffee table before pulling her to her feet. 

She made a slight noise of denial but didn’t try to push me away with a shove to the chest like she usually did. She often got like this when she’d drunk too much to care. I led her towards her bedroom and made sure to close the curtains as she pulled back the covers and slid under them fully-clothed. I hovered in the doorway as she settled down before closing the door and leaning against the wall as I rubbed my face to restrain the groan building in my throat. Finally I sighed as I picked up the bottle she’d been drinking from and poured the contents down the sink before putting the bottle in the pile of recycling.

I made sure to lock the front door before retreating back to the guest room to try and keep my mind on track with my previous plan. But every time this seemed to happen I’d find myself second guessing the decision of leaving her alone. I toed off my shoes as I sat on my bed and turned my attention to the paperwork Anderson had given me. 

As I sorted through it I saw the schedule of my hours as well the schedule for the trip to Paris with them in a few months. I also saw they’d be expecting me to pay for travel while they paid for accommodation which was a fair deal since the Eurostar was cheaper than a week at a five star hotel. I set the need for organizing the tickets to one side and turned my gaze to my personal laptop and began to search through websites for a flat. There was no way I could hold it off anymore. I’m sure Harry would understand when she was relatively sober.

But the more tired that I became the more I began to see Sherlock’s face before my eyes staring at me with those entrancingly gray eyes which seemed to stare into my very soul and send a shiver up and down every fiber of my body. I’d tried not to think of him since He’d walked down the stairs with his Personal assistant but those eyes seemed to have haunted some part of me.

Finally I closed the laptop and set it aside with my camera equipment to get ready for a few hours of sleep before I had to go back to sally’s office. But once I’d changed and was laid under the covers staring at the ceiling all I could visualize was Sherlock laid above me with his lips sucking at my neck, long fingers brushing against my sides and down my hips while his hips ground against my own. And like a horny teenage boy my hand slid inside my pajama pants and grazed against my length, imagining it as Sherlock’s before tightening the grip and beginning to pump up and down as my back arched against the bed. My free hand was shoved between my lips to silence myself so I didn’t disturb Harry.   
There was a sense of failure flowing through me as the jerks got more and more frantic until I let myself go and the reality hit me like a tonne of bricks. I can’t remember the last time I acted like such a juvenile, jerking of at the thought of an attractive man, especially one that was so damned out of my league. 

I pulled a box of tissues towards me and used one to wipe myself and my hand, throwing it in the bin. I laid back into the pillows and rubbed my face in frustration with the heels of my hands as I tried to make his image disappear. There is no way I can let myself be distracted by whatever physical attraction I have towards Sherlock. There was nothing to say he’d notice someone like me when he could have anyone he wanted but some part of me refused to let that deter me from the possibilities.


End file.
